


Fate Unpredicted

by HapticHoax



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: F/M, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 14:21:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/724281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HapticHoax/pseuds/HapticHoax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Oracle at Delphi had been very clear in her prophecy - Psyche was to be married to a monster so horrible that even the gods themselves feared him. Psyche had fearfully accepted this. It was fate. But the creature who came to her bedside that night was nothing near anything she'd expected. Soft M.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fate Unpredicted

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is my first time writing anything even vaguely M-rated (and this is only *vaguely* M-rated), so be gentle! I hope it all turned out okay, and that you like it! :)

The sun seemed to move slowly in that place. As dusk drifted toward evening, and the shadows grew ever longer, Psyche wandered amongst the colonnades of the golden, shimmering palace she had been brought to live in. Cool grass grew underfoot, clusters of small ferns at the bases of the tall columns, and lilies of the valley filled the air with their fatally sweet scent. Birds chirruped to each other, settling down for the night-time hours, and Psyche supposed that she, too, should begin preparations for sleep.

Her disembodied attendants had lain out a night gown and lit an oil lamp, she saw. Sliding the pins out of her chiton, she let the material fall to the ground and dressed herself in the simpler tunic. With nothing else left to do, she turned back the blankets and sat on her bed. Brushing her fingers absently through her long hair, she thought of her as yet unseen new husband. Was there a chance that the oracle's prophecy had not been quite literal? A monster so great, so powerful, that even the gods themselves regarded him with trepidation. Fear pooled in her belly. Oracles were often vague, but that description left little room for interpretation. And what else had she become but a sacrifice to appease the wrath of Aphrodite? Perhaps this beast would be sent by the gods to collect her as a living offering.

Then again, that possibility did not quite sit with her current situation. Psyche gazed around at the luxurious room; the walls were embedded with precious gems, the ceiling high and magnificent, the drapes a heavy, regal fabric. If she were a sacrifice, surely the gods would not create such a palace for her to spend her time in. And if she were not a sacrifice, then what of this monstrous beast? Was it merely coincidence, a matter of fate? It was possible that Aphrodite had simply wished her sent into exile, away from the eyes of men who had neglected her temples in favour of worshipping Psyche for so long. Maybe one of the gods smiled on her, and created a beautiful home to soften her exile. Perhaps the monster dwelt in these woods, and would come across her one day, take a liking and make her his bride.

Psyche was much happier with this last idea than the first. If she were right, although she would still be destined to be the wife of a beast, at least she did not have the anger of a vengeful goddess to worry about. In either case, she felt she needn't worry about her absent husband for tonight. He had not appeared all through the long day, and it seemed unlikely that he would find her now. The last rays of the sun had long since faded, and once she smothered the lamp, the room would be darkened as pitch. Carefully sliding the clay lamp towards her, Psyche did just that, and then lay down, determined to forget the trials of the day and sleep.

 

* * *

 

Psyche couldn't be sure how much time had passed since she had succumbed to sleep when she woke with a start, and the most curious feeling that she was no longer alone in the dark room. Opening her eyes helped her little, but sitting up, she peered into the darkness, trying to discern the shapes in the room.

"Who's there?" she called, her voice strained from sleep. No reply came, and so she tried again, her voice a touch stronger. " I know you're there. Who are you?"

Still the stranger said nothing, and fear was beginning to truly settle itself in Psyche's body now. Was this the monster come to claim his bride? Perhaps he had no ability for speech, and that was why he didn't reply. But she could hear no noises a beast might make; there was no panting, nor restless shifting of limbs. There was only silence. Somehow this only served to heighten Psyche's nerves. Her heart beat erratically, working so hard she could feel every thump against her chest. She frantically glanced around the room, trying desperately to catch some out-of-place shape that she could identify as man or beast.

"Psyche," came a full, rich masculine voice from out of the darkness. "Be calm."

Psyche froze. The beats of her heart resounded painfully in her throat. She clutched the blanket against the bed, as though anchoring herself. She gathered her courage and then repeated, "Who are you?"

Again there was no response, but she had a sense that the man was moving towards her. She hardly knew what to do, how to react. If this... _being_ was her husband, then this was her fate, and there would be no use in fighting it.

Suddenly, she was aware of him kneeling directly in front of her, beside the bed. Still she could barely make out his silhouette, but from what she could see of him he did appear to be man-shaped. He reached out a hand and laid it against Psyche's cheek. She started at the contact, but was faintly surprised to discover that his skin was as soft as, if not softer than, her own. She stared straight ahead, where she imagined his eyes to be, and tentatively pressed her own hand against his jaw. She felt him swallow beneath her palm, and he brought his forehead down to rest against hers. Psyche's eyes fell closed in response to his gentle caresses. Whatever she had expected this first encounter to be like, it had not been this.

The stranger pushed forward a little, bringing his lips down upon hers and peppering them with light, sweet kisses. Psyche could feel her apprehensions melting away under his seemingly affectionate attentions. But that could not be right. How could he feel affection for her when Psyche was sure they had never met before? His kisses were becoming more insistent now, and she willingly parted her lips to allow him access to her mouth. She scarcely had time to breathe between the end of one kiss and the beginning of another, and the man was soon drawing soft sighs from her that were as involuntary as the beating of her heart.

He began to get up, coaxing her up with him so as not to break their embrace. Once standing, one of his arms fell about her waist, drawing her close to his body. Psyche threaded her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, attempting to deepen their kisses further still. His free hand, she absently noticed, had crept up to her shoulder, and was loosening the ties that held the tunic around her body. He stepped back just far enough for her clothing to drop to the mattress, and then returned, pulling her body flush against his own once more, nothing now barring their intimacy.

It was then that Psyche realised that the stranger was as bare as she was, and for one frantic second, feeling his hardness pressing against her, she wanted to pull back and shy from his firm embrace. But then his lips caught hers, his hand slid up to caress the dip of her waist, and the other the swell of her breast, and the heady feeling he coaxed up in her pushed out any hesitation. Whoever this stranger was, he was masterful in the art of seduction. Every place her skin met his felt alive with heat; the tingles spreading through her from the points of contact something akin to the burns a person received from standing too long under the open sun, only with none of the pain.

The man slid his hands behind her back again and pulled her in close, breaking their kiss in order to give his attention to her neck. Psyche tilted her head without giving it much thought, her mouth falling open to gasp in some much needed air. He was grazing his teeth ever so slightly over the sensitive skin beneath her jaw, occasionally sucking on one of her pulse-points, and it was sending Psyche beyond the limits of her control. It was becoming too much to keep from holding him as closely as he was her, and so Psyche let her hands rest flat against his hips as some sort of compromise between her heightening lust for him and her refusal to give in so easily to a man she knew absolutely nothing about.

His reaction to her touch, however, made it impossible to resist. Almost immediately after she pressed her hands to his hot skin he stopped still, and she heard his small intake of breath. He drew his head back and Psyche could _feel_ his gaze on her face even though she couldn't see it. She briefly wondered if this stranger could see quite easily in the dark before he brought his head closer again and rested his forehead against hers, a hand back on her cheek. Then he kissed her so tenderly, with such _love_ , it seemed, that Psyche found it necessary to wrap her arms around him and cling tight just to remain standing.

As his kisses slowly became deeper and more fervent again, Psyche found herself rubbing her palms over his lower back in encouragement. She held herself as close to him as possible; was pressing almost wantonly against him. Psyche blushed at her own behaviour, and pushed her hands higher up his back in embarrassment. Then she froze.

Her hands had found a pair of muscled, feathered protrusions between the man's shoulder blades. Hesitantly she followed them back until they broadened out into what were unmistakeably a pair of wings. The pleasure he had stirred up in her was rapidly dissipating, replaced by her original fears. For all he felt and moved and acted like a man, he so obviously was not human. She tried to push away from him, but he held her tight. She shook her head and braced her hands against his chest as she struggled to break his hold, but his grip was like iron.

"Psyche," the man-, monster-, _creature_ began, and Psyche stilled. He brought his hand forward and cupped her face, brushing his thumb along her cheekbone. "Trust me." Psyche took a few deep breaths in the silence that followed his request. Neither moved for several moments – he seemed to be waiting for something. When Psyche finally looked up into the darkness and gave a small nod, he brought her in close to him, inadvertently trapping her hands against his chest. Dropping his head, he gave her a sweet, almost chaste kiss, then picked her up and lay her down on her bed, coming to kneel over her after a few moments, hands either side of her shoulders.

Psyche felt him shift to bend lower, and soon he was gently nuzzling her neck, leaving fluttering kisses over the warm skin. He was kissing so tenderly that Psyche thought he must be trying to make her forget her doubts, or to prove his humanity. He shifted again, and moved to her mouth, giving a few chaste nips before angling his head a little and kissing her fully. He ran the tip of his tongue along her lips, silently requesting entrance, and Psyche found herself opening her mouth to allow him in. He slid his tongue along hers almost immediately, and Psyche moaned softly from the sheer pleasure of it. He felt like lazy summer days and sweetly scented mulled wine and laughter and playfulness and every good thing. But there was something solemn behind his touch. Ancient. Powerful. Immense. It was as though Psyche's spirit itself was drawn towards him, like it yearned to be close to his colossal essence, like he was deserving of _worship_. He was an ocean, and she was standing at a cliff-edge, his waves crashing below. Psyche closed her eyes, and let herself fall.

 

* * *

 

Psyche woke the next morning to find the sun already high in the sky and the heat of the day well and truly settled in. She shifted slightly on her front, letting her eyes fall closed again and enjoying the warmth of the sun on her back. She couldn't remember a time when she'd slept so soundly. Of course, her bed at home was comfortable and she'd never been one to lose sleep on a regular basis, but this was different. She felt completely at ease, as though all her worries had seeped away in the night.

Eyes flickering open, Psyche gazed at the empty space next to her on the bed. Could it be that her restfulness was thanks to the man who'd appeared last night? She'd certainly felt unaccountably relaxed and safe in his arms as she'd drifted towards sleep. It was probably reasonable to assume that feeling of security had continued through the night. The bigger question was why she'd felt so safe wrapped up in a man she knew nothing about, except that he wasn't human. The soft, downy under-feathers he'd left on the bed were testament to that fact.

Psyche pushed up to rest on her elbows, and took one of the white feathers from beside her on the mattress, twirling it between her index finger and thumb. He was so unlike what she'd expected. Granted, he'd spoken scarcely five words to her in the entire night, but that her new husband even had the capacity for speech was a miracle in her eyes. The reality of him seemed utterly incongruent with the Oracle's prediction. Where she'd expected rough treatment, he'd given her tenderness. He'd been attentive and sweet and passionate and everything every woman wanted but had learned not to expect.

Psyche eased her upper body back down onto the mattress and caressed the material lightly, remembering the feel of his body moving against hers, the weight of him pressing her into the bed as he kissed her neck. The dull, happy ache between her legs flared up a little, crying out for attention Psyche was not prepared to give. She rolled over and sat up, and asked into the silence if a bath might be drawn for her. She wasn't sure how she was supposed to call for the attention of her disembodied attendants, or if they just heard her regardless of where she was, but soon the sound of pouring water could be heard, and Psyche smiled. She eased herself out of bed, gently stretching the stiff muscles in her legs as she went. Her bare skin showed no hints of last night's tryst that she could see. Aside from the somehow sweet soreness, she felt no different from yesterday.

Well, that wasn't quite right. There was a peacefulness in her that had been completely absent only a day ago. Psyche wondered if her sisters had experienced something similar after their marriage nights. She wasn't let in on much – those who are still virgins tend not to be included in marital discussions – but from what she'd heard them say Psyche had thought it must all be very unpleasant. Perhaps they had been keeping some of their experiences to themselves. Psyche knew she would not be comfortable talking about last night to anyone, at least. It was reasonable to assume her sisters would feel the same.

Her poor family. They had spent the last weeks preparing for Psyche's journey as though preparing for her funeral. She knew her parents would actively mourn her loss for a long time, when all the time she was alive and well and living in a golden palace amidst a beautiful garden. If only there was a way to let them know she was safe, just to set their hearts at ease. Perhaps she'd ask him, when he returned, but for now her bath was ready, and there was a whole wing of the palace she hadn't had a chance to explore yesterday, and she wasn't willing to let go of the joy that filled her, not when she hadn't been happy in, oh, _too long_ ,for the sake of worrying about something she could do nothing about at the moment.

Psyche wandered into the bathing room and stepped gingerly into the steaming hot water, preparing to begin a day full of exploring and relaxing and – it would be foolish to try to deny it – waiting for _his_ return.


End file.
